


Bad Habits, Sick Puppy

by trashcangimmick



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Temporary Character Death, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27920704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Dwight sneaks off into the woods for a little 'me time'. Turns out, he's not alone.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face, Implied/Referenced Pairings - Relationship
Comments: 29
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

Officially, Dwight is heading out into the woods looking for bog laurels. They’re running low, and Claudette wants to make more offering pouches.

Unofficially, David has been walking around shirtless and Dwight’s been half hard for hours. He can’t take it anymore. So, any excuse for a little jaunt into the relative privacy of the foggy trees is good enough for him.

Dwight makes it to the river that runs through the forest, a small distance away from the fire, in record time. He dips his hands in the water and rubs the grime away as best he can. There’s no such thing as ‘clean’ here. He’s pretty sure there are also no diseases (besides when they have to face the plague). But he’s still not into the idea of jerking it with grubby hands.

It’s a hop, skip and a jump, into the thicker trees. The noise of the fire and the low murmur of voices fade. Dwight is alone. He slumps against a tree, sliding down to the mossy forest floor and unzips his slacks. He pops the button open and slips a hand under the elastic of his boxers so quickly, it might be kind of embarrassing. He doesn’t care. 

After the first dozen or so trials in this horrible place, Dwight stopped trying to count. There’s no telling how much time passes in between rounds. There’s no telling how long he’s been here, though it seems like an eternity. 

It’s been even longer since he got laid. 

The comfort of his own hands barely takes the edge off, at this point. Especially since more and more people keep showing up, and most of them are sickeningly attractive. He tells himself he won’t cross the line. It would be like having sex with a coworker—which he learned not to do the hard way. 

It’s just. It sucks. It sucks so much. Honestly, the horniness is sometimes more unbearable than the sensation of a hook spearing through the meat of his shoulder. At least then, something’s in him. And the pain is temporary. The prickly, twisting urge at the pit of his stomach seems ceaseless.

Dwight’s cock throbs. As soon as his fingers graze his dick, he can’t hold in the moan. He lets his eyes fall shut and his mouth hang open as his heart thuds in his throat. Even in such a desperate state, he likes to tease himself. He slowly plays with the tip of his cock, barely rubbing it. He lets it slide between two fingers, achingly slow. A few rolls of his hips, grinding into his own hand, and he has to pause because he’s already getting too close. 

There’s a strange puff of air. Warm. Slightly acrid. Right against Dwight’s neck. 

His eyes snap open. He turns his head and is staring directly into a twisted white mask. He shrieks and topples over, when his brain sends the mixed signal to run/hide/get his hand out of his pants. He manages the latter and scrambles back. Still on his ass, kind of doing a weird crab walk.

The Ghostface doesn’t lunge for him. He just stays crouched where Dwight was sitting, head cocked. Dwight can’t see a knife, but it must be tucked away somewhere easily reachable.

“No need to stop on my account.”

The voice is a bit smarmy. It’s not raspy, or bassy, or really intimidating in a conventional sense. It’s a middle pitch, perfectly calm and collected. It’s almost as disarming as the sudden ambush.

“Looked like you were having a real nice time there, Dwighty.” The Ghostface chuckles a little. 

“H-how do you know my name?” Dwight asks. Because it’s the easiest question. Easier than— _what are you doing here? Aren’t killers penned up somewhere during breaks between trials? Am I about to get stabbed?_

“I know lots about you, babe. Kinda in the whole ‘stalker’ job description. Also you guys don’t talk all that quietly. Hell, any time one of you makes off with some of the good old Thompson moonshine the discussion gets pretty _boisterous.”_

Dwight isn’t sure what to do with that. His nerves are buzzing, and his head is spinning, and he can’t breathe that well. It would be a bad time for a panic attack. Well, it’s never a good time. But still. He mostly doesn’t get them in trials anymore. He’d actually fooled himself into thinking that all this intense pseudo exposure therapy had dialed his anxiety back. But here he is, staring off the cliff.

“Tell ya what. I’ll even the score a little. My name’s Danny.”

Ghostface—or Danny—straightens up. He takes a few strides to close the gap and holds out a hand. There’s a very long pause, where Dwight debates if it’s stupider to reject the overture or embrace it. Politeness wins out. He takes the offered, leather-clad hand, and lets Danny pull him to his feet. The effortless force of it reminds him a little of when he used to walk dogs, and this huge German Shepard named Rex would bodily drag him around the park. Danny pulls him up off the ground like he weighs nothing. 

Then again, maybe it should be reminding Dwight of getting slung over the Ghostface’s shoulder and being carried to a hook instead of the more mundane memories. Brains are weird. Dwight realizes he’s still holding hands with a serial killer and promptly tries to withdraw. Danny tightens his grip and pulls him in close so they’re nearly chest to chest. 

“So what were you thinking about? You seem like the kinky type.”

“What?” Dwight sputters. “What’s that supposed to m-mean?”

“It’s always the quiet ones. I mean, the pedestrian answer would be that you were thinking about the Redhead’s ass or Pecs McGee. But who knows. Maybe you were off in fantasy land, getting spitroasted by Army Gramps and Mr. Lucky.”

“That’s… weirdly specific.”

“I mean, I think you’d look hot stuffed full of cock. Crying for Daddy to slap you around a little. You’re cute when you get weepy.”

As he talks, Danny walks them backwards. Until Dwight feels rough bark through his thin dress shirt. He’s trapped against a tree. Danny lets go of his hand, to grab Dwight’s hips and pin him more firmly. Dwight is so hopelessly off balance. He’s not sure if it’s the filthy, boundary annihilating words, or the human (he’s pretty sure Ghostface is a human?) touch. 

“I honestly thought you’d struggle a little. You’re just full of surprises, Dweety Bird.”

“Wha—“

Danny presses his leg between Dwight’s thighs, against his hard cock, nudging it, rubbing. And oh. It’s good. Dwight bites his lip in some vague effort not to whimper. He can’t help the slight rock of his hips.

Danny is a monster. He’s stabbed Dwight to death on several occasions and seemed to take a lot of joy in it. Dwight’s watched him brutally murder pretty much everyone that sits by the campfire. Danny is also the sort of sicko who takes pictures with the bodies. He’ll do it in the middle of a trial.

Some of the killers don’t seem to know better. Or they’re just actual facts monsters. Maybe Danny has a tragic backstory, but as far as Dwight knows—it’s just a dude in a mask who kills for the thrill of it. 

None of that withstanding, Dwight is still very hard. Arousal has been known to cause poor decision making processes. 

“I’m gonna fuck you.” Danny says so matter-of-fact. Like he’s reciting the score of the previous night’s football game. 

“What if I don’t want to?” Dwight tries to swallow the lump in his throat. Maybe it’s preformative. Trying to convince himself he’s made the token effort to fight it. 

“I don’t care. But it doesn’t matter. Because you’re gagging for it, aren’t you, Princess?”

Dwight swallows again, mouth getting drier by the second. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Not if you’re a good little slut”

Dwight isn’t sure that’s enough of an answer. It doesn’t seem to matter. Danny tugs Dwight’s pants down around his ankles with a quick motion. He crouches, running his hands up Dwight’s legs, pressing them apart. It’s a weird time to be embarrassed, but Dwight can’t help it. Anytime someone new sees him naked there’s always that twinge of fear. The urge to cover up or shy away. Dwight’s never thought much of himself. He’s not particularly muscular. There’s a little pooch of fat over his stomach that never goes away. He’s got stretch marks on the sides of his ass from when it suddenly plumped up in college from all the ramen noodles and spaghettios. He’s just kind of. Average. 

He’d actually shaved a few days before the office camping trip, for a lackluster Tinder date that ended up leading nowhere. His physical appearance seems fixed in this place. So, his balls and ass are basically hairless. Danny doesn’t comment. He just slides a gloved finger between Dwight’s ass cheeks and rubs across his hole. The moan escapes before Dwight can stop himself. Danny chuckles.

Then Danny’s pulling off Dwight's shoes, undressing him completely from the waist down. He forces Dwight’s legs apart even wider. He spits, then he’s shoving a finger into Dwight’s hole, swirling it around, tugging at the muscle. Dwight’s breath stutters. His cock twitches. It’s shiny, drooling at the tip as Danny bumps against the hot spot. A little more spit. The intrusion still burns. But that’s apparently all Dwight’s getting.

It all happens so fast. Dwight doesn’t even catch it when Danny undoes his own pants. Danny stands up, tugs his cloak open and then there’s a naked, hard cock pressing up against Dwight’s hip.

Danny’s not huge, but he’s thick. He rubs the head of his cock against Dwight’s. Laughs at the way it makes Dwight whine. He grabs Dwight’s right leg under the knee and hikes it up around his hip. Then, without ceremony, he shoves in.

Dwight makes a noise that might resemble a squeak. He’s out of practice. It’s been—well—y’know. It’s not like he was getting dick all over town before he came to this place. The sudden intrusion is a burst of pain. It’s on that border of being too much to handle.

_“Fuck,_ you’re tight.” Danny grunts. 

That about sums it up.

Danny isn’t gentle. He starts rabbiting into Dwight, harsh and fast. Taking his own pleasure. Using Dwight like a sex toy. It’s. Really hot. Dwight clutches at Danny’s broad shoulders and hangs on for the ride. He’s panting. Flushed all over. It’s painful enough to make him half want it to stop. But there’s also that bloom of white hot pleasure coiling inside him. Danny’s pressed in close enough that Dwight’s cock is rubbing against the layer of silky cloth that covers his firm abdomen. It’s turning into the good hurt. The hurt that leaves Dwight pleasantly sore, and kinda still horny, just thinking about the way he got railed.

“Are you a virgin?” Danny’s voice has dropped a little lower. Gotten slightly grittier. 

“No.” Dwight’s too out of it to even sound offended.

“Damn. That woulda been hot. But at least you feel like one.”

Danny grabs Dwight’s ass with his free hand. Squeezes it. Then his palm slides along Dwight’s hip, until he can get a hand around Dwight’s dick. The slight stimulation, the leather sliding over sensitive skin, is enough to send Dwight shuddering down the path to orgasm. His stomach twitches, and his hips jerk. He’s drowning in the sensation, splattering jizz all over Danny’s cloak. 

“Did you just come?” Danny couldn’t sound more delighted.

“Y-yes."

“Damn, you’re easy.”

That alone makes Dwight convulse again, still riding the aftershocks. He’d be embarrassed if he weren’t so high on it.

Usually, if Dwight’s really horny, he can stay hard and get off again. He didn’t realize it wasn’t normal until he was a teenager. Sure, it’s uncomfortable at first. The intense oversensitivity. But he’s learned to like it. Crave it, even. 

Danny fucks him harder. Dwight curls his leg around Danny as best he can for some kind of support. Danny keeps playing with Dwight’s dick. So. Dwight’s a gasping, quivering mess. His muscles keep squeezing down, milking Danny’s cock like something deep inside him is starving for it. 

“Is it too much for you?” Danny’s voice is low and raspy. “Your little dick must be sore, huh?”

It’s not _that_ little. Probably on the smaller side of average. Most guys like it. Probably makes them feel superior or something. The few women Dwight’s been with didn’t seem to mind, considering he went down on them beforehand.

Danny keeps squeezing him. Jerking him off in time with the harsh thrusts. Dwight’s eyes might be tearing up a little. But the overstimulation is rapidly building into pleasure. How could it not with the way Danny’s hammering into him? Dwight hasn’t been fucked like this in years.

It’s hard to tell through the mask, but it seems like Danny’s getting close. He’s panting. His movements are getting more unsteady. 

“You want Daddy to fuck his load into ya?” He groans, slowing down just a little, like maybe he’s trying to hold off.

_“Guh.”_ Is all Dwight manages.

It’s definitely a bad idea to let a stranger come inside you. Especially when that stranger is some sort of psychopath that’s probably done a lot of weird sex things with god knows who and what. Then again, they’re already fucking raw, and Dwight wouldn’t be surprised about a little blood considering he’s basically dry apart from the spit and whatever pre Danny is leaking. Damage done.

“Tell me you want it.” Danny hisses. He smacks Dwight’s ass for emphasis.

“Want it.” Words are hard.

“Tell _Daddy_ you want it.”

It’s kinda weird. Dwight’s kinda lost track of what’s normal anymore. He’s already in some flavor of hell realm. What’s he got left to lose?

“Come inside me, Daddy.” The whimper is at least halfway genuine. Dwight’s already riding the edge again and this seems like it could send him over.

Danny grunts. He shoves himself into Dwight deep as he can, a few more rough jabs, and then he stops. Dwight joins him with a final, desperate spasm. Danny doesn’t linger long. He slides out after a few moments, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Not bad, sweetcheeks. Not bad at all.”

He pats Dwight’s face, oozing smug condescension. He releases Dwight’s leg and steps back. He lets his cloak fall, leaving him fully covered while Dwight is still ruined and exposed.

“I’ll be in touch.” Danny flicks Dwight on the hip.

And then he’s gone. Like he just vanished between the trees. Dwight stands there for a little while, trying to catch his breath, unsure if his legs will work. Then the mists begin to curl at his feet. He barely has time to get his pants and shoes on before he’s carried off into a trial, still messy and sore. His boxers are lost to the woods. 

The trial passes in an utter blur. Bubba finds him immediately and Dwight dies in the basement before anyone can try to rescue him. He doesn’t mind it too much, considering how tired he is. He’s ready for a long fucking nap when the sky spider deposits him by the fire once again.

Unfortunately, the inside of his pants is a disaster. Figures the Entity would clean up blood and bruises, but choose to ignore the fact that Dwight’s covered in crusty, dry jizz.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Brief mention of past sexual assault**. Skip the paragraph that mentions George if that's triggering. Otherwise enjoy the bloodbath :D

The thing about a bad choice is that it’s easier the second time around. Most of the rationalizing and excuse making is out of the way. So, when Danny pulls Dwight out of his river duck bath during the next break between trials, well. It’s easy to stay pliant as Danny drops him down on the riverbank and proceeds to ruin him. The rough handling, and perfunctory spit slick is only somewhat less charming when Dwight’s not starting off on square  _ about to come.  _ The sex is still good, even if Danny’s selfish. Dwight doesn’t really need an attentive lover to get off. He’d rather not read into what it says about him that he gets all hot and bothered over someone using him without much thought for his enjoyment. 

Two bad choices can spiral into three, to four, to whatever point counting becomes irrelevant. Between trials, Dwight wanders away from the campfire and he comes back doing his best not to limp. Danny doesn’t tend to ‘waste time’ on prep. If Danny’s feeling generous enough for lube, it’s a smear of retardant jelly, or some form of grease he’s stolen from the trapper. Dwight gets one finger swirled around his hole, and some slick on Danny’s cock, then he gets fucked hard enough to see stars. It should be embarrassing how much he gets off on it all. There’s a lot of  _ should _ and  _ shouldn’t _ when it comes to Danny, and Dwight always seems to pick the wrong one.

The fact remains, Dwight went from hopelessly horny with no release in sight, to getting fucked ruthlessly on a regular basis. Is it screwed up? Yes. Does it display poor survival instincts and ability to contemplate future consequences? Absolutely. Will Dwight stop? Nope.

At the very least, nobody seems that suspicious. Dwight doesn’t tend to be gone for too long, considering how efficient Danny is at fucking him silly. He can always come up with some excuse or another to disappear. Everybody needs alone time now and again. Hell, other people disappear with each other. Claudette and Meg have been sneaking off for almost as long as they’ve both been here. Lately, Nea’s been joining them. Jake and Kate are often nowhere to be found at the same time.

Maybe Dwight can’t really judge them for shitting where they eat, considering what he’s been up to. But still.

It’s your average campfire time. Bill chain smoking while he plays cards with Ace. Laurie, Quinten and Feng chattering together about this or that. Teen stuff. David strutting around half naked. Jeff, Adam, Jane and Tapp are in a trial.

“Y’wanna go on a walk or summit?” David’s shadow stretches long over Dwight. It’s a bit startling. Dwight was spacing out, chewing on his nails, maybe thinking about Danny’s cock. He didn’t even notice David standing right in front of him.

“Oh. Um. Sure.”

Dwight scrambles to his feet. Usually when David goes on  _ walks _ it’s with Jane, or Feng, or one of the other girls. In fact, David doesn’t usually talk to Dwight at all. He’s been standoffish and gruff basically since he got here. Dwight tends to have that effect on ‘Alpha Males’. He comes off as weak. Queer. Easy prey.

David reminds Dwight of George Bailey from high school. The football player who always snidely called Dwight a  _ fucking faggot. _ Once at a party, George cornered him. Dragged him into some side room, slammed the door, and forced Dwight onto his knees. George was too drunk to get hard. It was a minute or two of a cockhead bumping against Dwight’s lips. Dwight barely took the soft shaft into his mouth, though he still remembers the dull salty taste. George gave up after a while and let Dwight scurry off with threats of death if he ever told anyone. Dwight kept his mouth shut. In more senses than one. He’s never given a real blowjob. The idea makes him a little nauseous. 

David is quiet as they stride away from the fire, on one of the well-worn paths that leads to an unusually large tree with a clearing around it. The branches are low to the ground and easy to climb. It’s kind of a nice place to sit for a break from the monotony.

“So where you been gettin’ off to?” David asks once they’re a ways into the trees. He’s looking straight ahead. His shoulders are tense.

“Hmm?” Dwight bites his lip. Fuck. Maybe he’s been a lot more obvious than he thought.

“Used to be ya almost never left the fire. Then all of the sudden you’re a bit scarce.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been restless. Walking around is better than sitting still sometimes, you know?” Dwight tries to keep his tone light. Like he’s not panicking.

There’s no way any of them know. How could they? Like. Who would even guess?

“Sure that walkin’s all you been doing?” The corners of David’s lips tilt upward. 

“There’s not much else to do.”

“‘S all right, you know.” David huffs out a small laugh. “Only human to get  _ restless _ after being trapped so long in a place like this.”

The clearing is visible ahead. Dwight doesn’t know where this conversation is going. He can feel his cheeks getting a little pink. Is David making fun of him? Did he just imply—does he think Dwight’s out here jerking off all the time? Granted it’s not far from the mark. But. God.

They walk past the curtain of spruce and pine. The big oak tree stands proud in the middle of the surrounding patchy grass. David turns to look at Dwight. It’s slow. A clear drag of his eyes up and down. 

“Uh… “ Dwight doesn’t know what else to say.

“Thought I had ya figured at the sort of prude who wouldn’t even give himself a hand now and then.” David raises an eyebrow. “Maybe savin’ yourself for Jesus.”

“I’ve never even been inside a church.”

“Fancy that.” David takes a step closer. “Ain’t waiting till marriage?”

“David—what—what is this?”

“Pretty clear pass, innit?”

Dwight’s brain is basically a flatline. David King is coming onto him. David is very attractive. He’s all muscle and rugged charm. The sort of guy who’d only give Dwight a second glance when he’s had more than a few too many and the bar’s about to close.

This is all a lot to process and Dwight doesn’t get the chance to.

David closes the distance even further. He cups Dwight’s jaw and tilts his head up. Then he leans in for a kiss. It’s. Aggressive. Tongue, and teeth, and spit. Dwight puts his hands on David’s bare chest for balance. When was the last time someone kissed him? Danny sure doesn’t.

Then, suddenly, there’s a thick, wet sound. David cries out. He pushes Dwight away. There’s a twisted white mask visible, looming over David’s shoulder.

Mere seconds pass before another squelch of a blade penetrating flesh. A flurry of rapid ones. David crumples to his knees, starting to cough up blood.

“Dwight…” his voice is ragged. “Run…”

But Dwight can’t. He just stands there, watching in horror as Danny pushes David to the ground and stabs him repeatedly. Long past the point where David’s body ceases twitching and the cries of pain taper off. His back is a bloody, pulpy mess. Danny is covered in it, breathing heavily.

“I should have brought my camera.” Danny giggles. There are splatters of red on his mask.

“Danny—what the fuck!”

“He got in the way of playtime. I mean, I was waiting for you right by the treeline. Then you bring this dipshit along. What was I supposed to do?”

“You can’t just… you killed him.”

“Hardly the first time,” Danny snorts. 

He stands up, wiping his knife off on his sleeve before sheathing it. David’s body sinks slowly into the dirt, wrapped in spidery claws.

Danny strides over towards Dwight and cups his chin with a bloody glove. Marking him right where David’s hand had been. “Besides. I don’t want that meathead touching my baby boy.”

Dwight hates himself for the lurch of lust—but the idea of Danny getting possessive of him really revs the engine. And well, at the very least it seems like David will be OK. Dwight wasn’t positive that non-permanent death was a thing outside of Trials. If David’s just gonna get resurrected at the campfire again, maybe there’s a little less to feel guilty about.

Danny pushes Dwight to the ground. Danny doesn’t even bother undressing him all the way. He just gets Dwight’s pants down around his thighs, and then pushes both of his legs up against his stomach, exposing his hole and cock. Danny spits and lets it dribble between Dwight’s ass cheeks. He pushes it into Dwight’s hole with two blood-slicked fingers. Danny lifts his cloak and unzips his pants. As soon as his dick’s out, he pushes it into Dwight’s ass.

Danny holds onto the bunched fabric between Dwight’s thighs like a handle as he starts to thrust. It’s a little shameful how loud Dwight moans for it, the way his dick throbs despite the sting of barely lubricated penetration.

“Don’t let that guy try anything else.” Danny grunts, snapping his hips, deep and hard enough to make Dwight whimper. “You’re my bitch. I’m the only one who gets to fuck you. ”

“O-OK.” 

Danny rubs the tips of his gloved fingers over Dwight’s cock. Dwight moans. The sensation of leather gloves on delicate skin has been forever burned into Dwight’s brain as a precursor to orgasm. He’s already so close. Danny fucks into him even harder.

“Come on Daddy’s dick. Wanna feel it.”

Dwight does. He clenches, squeezes down around Danny’s cock. He squirts out a puddle of cum that pools on his stomach, staining his shirt. The rush is overwhelming. Danny doesn’t stop touching him. He gets rougher, jerking Dwight’s off almost as fast as they’re fucking. 

“Good boy,” Danny coos. “How bout another one?”

Dwight thrashes a little, hands scrabbling in the dirt. It’s so much stimulation. He can’t keep in the sob. Danny fucks like he’s trying to break Dwight in half. It’s rougher than anyone else has ever been. It hurts in the best of ways. Being stuffed so thoroughly, with such enthusiasm. Dwight doesn’t have time to worry about his body or its various faults. There’s nothing but the all-encompassing sensory feast.

The pressure builds fast. Dwight screams as his muscles snap around Danny’s cock. Danny actually stops moving for a moment, hissing as Dwight jerks and twitches, dick dribbling out another spurt of jizz to mix with the first mess. Danny pulls out, flips Dwight over like it’s nothing. He jerks Dwight back by the hips so he’s on his hands and knees. Then he slides in and resumes his brutal pace. Dwight’s arms don’t hold out for long with the force of it. He collapses, ass in the air, cheek resting on the dirt. Danny keeps a tight hold on him.

“Such a good little cockslut.” Danny’s panting, losing any real sense of rhythm. Just taking his pleasure, greedy as can be. “Gonna fill you up. I wanna stain you inside. Fuck it in so deep, it stays there forever.”

Dwight shudders. Danny groans. His grip tightens enough to bruise. Then he goes still. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Damn, baby.”

He slaps both Dwight’s ass cheeks before pulling out. Dwight slumps onto the ground, breathing heavy. Danny ruffles Dwight’s hair. Then when Dwight opens his eyes, Danny’s gone.

Dwight pulls his pants up and drags his feet back to camp. He makes a point to go off the trail a bit. Make it look like he gave Danny the run-around. He even rubs some more dirt into his shirt to hide the jizz stain. He can hear David shouting from some distance. About what you’d expect.  _ This is an emergency. Dwight’s in danger. Killers can leave their realms and hurt us. _

Come to think of it, that is a little weird that Danny can just wander through the woods. Dwight’s never seen other killers out there before. Is Danny special or something? Is he breaking a rule or did he just find a loophole?

Dwight stumbles from the treeline, bloody and dirty. A convincing mess. Claudette and Meg rush to him to start checking for wounds. David stops shouting, visibly relieved. Nobody asks too many questions. They accept at face value that Dwight somehow managed to run and hide. It’s kinda what he’s good at. He’s spent many a trial tucked into a locker, avoiding a killer’s blade. 

Unfortunately, it’s decided that everyone has to be a lot more careful. Only go into the woods in groups—at least till they figure out what’s going on. Dwight can’t exactly argue with it unless he wants to look suspicious, so he doesn’t say much. Anything you don’t say can’t be held against you in court.

Besides, It won’t be that long before everyone calms down and loosens up. Hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3

The trials are really the only way to mark the passage of time. It’s been five of them since Dwight last saw Danny. Everyone’s been incredibly serious about sticking together and not straying from the light of the campfire for any reason. Dwight isn’t the only one who seems on edge because of it. David keeps grumbling about how he wouldn’t have gotten killed if the bastard hadn’t stabbed him in the back like a coward. Jake mentions that he hasn’t seen any evidence of other killers lurking around. Bill grunts whenever he starts to walk away and one of the girls jumps up to walk with him. But Jane and Laurie are both incredibly resolute in saying that they need to play it safe. Laurie, despite her age, is scary. Jane is a force of nature. Most of the girls actually seem to be on the side of caution. So. Dwight’s been going along to get along as always.

Every time the mist swirls around him, though, Dwight can’t help hoping he might see Danny. He doesn’t really want to contemplate what it says about him—that he’s so desperate to see his fuckbuddy that he doesn’t even care if it’s in a context where said fuckbuddy will likely kill him.

The mists recede. The ground solidifies beneath Dwight’s feet. He’s surrounded by the rotten cornfields of Coldwind Farm. There’s no actual wind here, despite the name. The stalks stand perfectly still, only rippling when someone moves between them.

Dwight appeared right next to a generator, along with Bill. They nod at each other before crouching down and getting to work. The entity has never allowed them to talk during trials. They can only gesture vaguely. The only sounds they make are cries of pain.

The generator chugs along quickly. Dwight keeps glancing over his shoulder. He hasn’t heard the rev of a chainsaw, or the ringing of a bell. He didn’t see any jigsaw boxes or fountains of devotion in his cursory look around. That narrows it down considerably.

The trapper and hag are usually both quiet at the start of a match, setting up their snares for later. Michael and Ghostface—Danny—often remain silent until they first stab someone. Dwight tries not to shiver at the idea, tries to focus on the wires and cogs in front of him. It’s not normal to get hot at the thought of someone putting a knife in you. If therapy were available in hell, Dwight certainly needs it.

The generator flicks on. It doesn’t usually pay to linger. Dwight begins to walk off towards the tractor when he hears Bill scream behind him. Dwight bolts away, vaulting a window without a clear view of what happened. All he knows is that Bill is already on the ground with one hit. 

That means.

Dwight tries to keep breathing. He makes a lot of distance across the field, periodically glancing over his shoulder. He doesn’t see anyone following him. He sees the faint red aura of Bill on the ground. It’s one of the few signals the Entity provides to them, alerting them their teammates are in need of rescuing. 

By the time Dwight finds another generator, there’s a second scream. This one female. Dwight sees the red outline fall and stay steady on the ground. The killer is not hooking anyone. The other survivors are being left to bleed out.

Bill has a knack for picking himself up, so Dwight creeps towards his other downed teammate. It’s Jane. He helps her up. He tries to start putting bandages on her, but she doesn’t give him the chance. She just takes off, starts running injured. 

It’s only a few seconds before Dwight realizes why. A dark figure lunges out of the corn stalks, stabbing Dwight in the thigh and knocking him to the ground. Dwight screams. He’s face down in the dirt. Breathing heavily. There’s a substantial weight on top of him, pressing him down. He knows who it is. He  _ knows. _

The killer ruffels Dwight’s hair before standing up, leaving him on the ground. Dwight can barely get his bleary eyes to focus on Danny’s cloaked form vanishing back into the corn.

Bill is up again, because Dwight doesn’t see him anymore. Someone else, another guy, goes down. Quickly followed by Jane. Dwight begins to crawl across the dirt, towards the single yellow aura that remains. It doesn’t seem promising. It looks like Bill is being chased. It doesn’t last long. Bill goes down a second time. 

Every team member is a red aura on the ground, leaking blood from their wounds. The killer circles back around, unsurprisingly, towards Dwight.

It doesn’t seem like Danny can talk either. He bends down to sling Dwight up over his shoulder and starts to walk. Towards the killer shack. The basement. Wouldn’t that just add insult to injury? Dwight struggles halfheartedly. Danny smacks him hard on the ass. Which. Makes Dwight stop. 

Danny doesn’t take Dwight down the stairs, though. Once they get to the killer shack, he deposits Dwight onto the floor. Danny’s knife is out. He slips it under the waistband of Dwight’s jeans and slices through the denim, cutting it along the seam. He pulls the fabric aside and down, so the ruined clothing is just bunched around Dwight’s right ankle. Dwight could struggle, but he doesn’t. He’s starting to feel light-headed from the blood loss. He doesn’t imagine anyone else is in better shape. 

He doesn’t know where Danny got the medkit. Maybe he stole it from another survivor. But he wraps a perfunctory few rolls of gauze around Dwight’s thigh to staunch the bleeding. Then he goes for some sort of ointment. Upon tearing the packet open, he squeezes it onto his fingers. He grips Dwight’s uninjured leg and lifts it up. Danny rests it on his shoulder, uses the control to spread Dwight’s legs wide enough to fit between. He smears the oily substance from the medkit onto Dwight’s asshole and there’s no mistaking where this is going.

Dwight can’t protest. He can only cry out as Danny shoves inside him, painfully aware of the way his aura must be moving. There are two other auras still present. Bill must have bled out. But Jane is still alive. So is whoever else was with them. They can see Dwight splayed open. 

Danny is rough as usual, no ramp up, just straight on to the bone-rocking fucking that Dwight has missed so much. The fact that people are watching is motifying. With the amount of makeshift lube on Danny cock and in Dwight’s ass, the slick slap of skin might be loud enough to hear across the empty fields. Dwight is burning up. His leg hurts, his ass hurts, he’s still bleeding through the bandage. He’s so hard. His cock is throbbing with the sort of need that makes an addict do crazy things. 

Normally, Danny would be saying all sorts of gross shit. It would be a constant barrage of slightly humiliating dirty talk.  _ Take Daddy’s cock, such a good little slut, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you can’t walk. _ Instead, it’s just the sound of his heavy breathing. He grabs Dwight’s throat and squeezes. Dwight whimpers. It’s not enough to cut off his air supply, but the feeling of a broad hand around his neck makes him dizzy anyway.

He almost whines in protest when Danny lets go, but then something strange happens. Danny reaches further up and knocks Dwight’s glasses off. They hit the floor behind his head. He blinks a few times. He can barely see without them. The world is gausey, shapes and colors. He’s legally blind. 

He can still see the movement above him. The stark white and black of Danny’s mask replaced with blotchy brown hair and pale skin. He’s never seen Danny’s face. His breath catches. He wishes he could actually grasp any detail. That’s most certainly the point, though. Danny doesn’t want him to see. He must want something else. 

He flops down, supporting himself on his elbows, still fucking into Dwight harsh and deep. Dwight’s cock rubs against Danny’s stomach. It’s heaven. Then their lips brush together. It’s almost hesitant. Dwight’s so surprised. He gasps. His nerves buzz with a strange electricity. Danny kitten-licks into his mouth. Small slips of tongue, long preses of lips, a soft nip here and there. Dwight’s so fucking close. He tries to hold on, marinate in the feeling of surfing the edge. 

Danny fists a hand in Dwight’s hair and deepens the kiss. There’s no descriptor other than  _ tongue fucking.  _ Dwight’s high on it. He’s on another goddamn planet. He comes so hard he kind of whites out for a second. Danny fucks him through it, even groans along with him. 

Then he stops. He grabs Dwight’s hips and rolls both of them over so Dwight’s on top. He smacks both of Dwight’s ass cheeks, making it pretty clear what he wants.

Every time they fuck, Dwight is pinned down. He’s on his back or his hands and knees. This is all so new. It’s obvious what changed—Dwight hasn’t seen him in a little bit. Did the absence make Danny a little more desperate? Dwight thought the feeling must be kind of one-sided. He never imagined Danny would miss him. 

It’s very probable he’s projecting feelings where there aren’t any. At best, Danny just missed getting his dick wet. Maybe he’s trying to butter Dwight up, give him something he figures Dwight wants to ensure they get back to their regularly scheduled fucking. 

But Dwight is soft, physically and emotionally. He always has been. Any off-handed kind word or small gesture has always been enough to make him fall in love.

Dwight sits up. He rests his hands on Danny’’s chest and starts to move, rolling his hips in a slow, dirty grind. The flex of Dwight’s thighs makes the wound weep and sting. He doesn’t care. Danny groans. He grabs Dwight’s ass. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t try to yank control back. He lets Dwight set a much gentler pace than the norm. Dwight is still hard. Cock bright red, slick with his recent release. He leans forward just a bit to get the right angle. It makes his legs quiver. 

Danny pounding into him is very good. Dwight likes to be ridden hard and put away wet. The sensation of Danny’s fat cockhead slowly dragging across Dwight’s prostate is transcendent. Dwight keeps it right there, starts to fuck himself harder but not faster. Before long, he’s lifting nearly all the way off and slamming himself down on Danny’s dick. Danny is panting. Squeezing Dwight’s ass, letting out soft grunts. 

Eventually, Danny grabs Dwight’s hips and forces him to speed up. Dwight’s cock bobs and twitches as their bodies slap together. He’s close again. He’s kind of almost crying with how good it feels and how bad he wants to come. 

He gets his wish. Danny wraps a hand around Dwight’s cock and gives it a few rough tugs. That’s enough. Dwight screams. Then it’s a wash of horrible, wonderful, overwhelming pleasure. He continues to pulse with it as Danny finishes inside him, growling almost animalisticly. 

Dwight flops forward. Danny pats him on the back. Job well done. 

Danny rolls Dwight onto his side and sits up. He puts his mask back on and hands Dwight his glasses. Dwight’s clothes are ruined. He’s ruined. The auras of his teammates are long gone. He’s not sure he’ll be able to walk to the hatch.

Danny picks him up, one arm around his shoulders and one underneath his knees in a bridal carry. Instead of exiting the shack, he turns and starts walking towards the basement. Hatch doesn’t spawn in the basement. Dwight doesn’t have it in him to struggle. Part of him knew it might end this way. Killers kill. That’s the law of this place.

He moans when Danny hefts him up and shoves the meat hook through his shoulder. He hangs there. Blinking back tears. Danny cups his chin, rubs a thumb across his cheek. It’s such a tender gesture. 

Danny stands directly in front of him and watches as the spidery legs of the entity spear through Dwight’s body, snuffing his life out in an instant.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the 'Last Shadow Puppets' song.
> 
> I am not sorry for my crimes. But Dweety bird is fine.


End file.
